


Media Darling

by wagamiller



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wagamiller/pseuds/wagamiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"We are gonna brush up on those answers..."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Felicity makes good on her promise, with a little help from Thea.</p><p>Post-ep for 4x04</p>
            </blockquote>





	Media Darling

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just an excuse for me to write Thea, Felicity and Oliver hanging out. That's really it. Set the same day he announces his candidacy in 4x04.
> 
> It's a little less polished and proof-read than I'd like but I wanted to get it out before this week's ep, so please forgive any glaring errors.

The bottle of wine they’ve been sharing is almost empty when the girls decide, via some sort of silent conversation with just their eyes, that it’s time to turn on him.

“Mr Queen.” Thea raises a closed fist to her lips, as if it’s a microphone. “What do you say to those who think you’re not qualified to run for mayor?”

“Mr Queen, Mr Queen!” Felicity joins in, calling his name as if she’s clamouring for his attention in a crowded room, one thing that she’d never, ever, actually need to do. “You’re not a politician. Why are you running for Mayor?”

“What–” Oliver pauses with his beer bottle halfway to his lips, looking warily between Felicity and Thea, taking in the identical mischievous grins on their faces. “Sorry, what’s going on?”

“My esteemed colleague and I are interviewing you,” Thea explains, nodding at Felicity’s outstretched fist, now poised under Oliver’s chin. “Obviously.”

“Yes! C’mon, you need the practice,” Felicity needles, uncurling her fist to jab an insistent finger against his chest. “And don’t try and pretend you’re averse to a little roleplay, mister, because I remember that–”

“Woah! No, no, no!” Thea protests, grabbing a cushion from beside her and throwing it in Felicity’s direction. Oliver deflects it lazily with his free hand, batting it down onto the couch beside them. “I don’t want to hear this. That’s my brother, Felicity. My _brother_.”

“Right, sorry,” Felicity says hastily, throwing her hands up in apology. “Wine makes me a little chatty–”

“What’s your excuse the rest of the time?”

“Rude.” Felicity lobs the cushion right back at Thea, both of them dissolving into giggles as it sails over her shoulder and lands on the floor beyond her armchair. “Oops.”

“Terrible shot,” Thea admonishes, leaning over the back of her chair to retrieve the cushion and tucking it behind her.

“Well I have you two for all my marksmanship needs, don’t I?” Felicity says, shrugging. “Although I did once hit a League assassin in the throat with my tablet.” When the claim gets no reply, she shifts back from Oliver to flash him a look, her blue eyes wide and expectant behind her glasses. “What? I did!”

“She did,” Thea agrees. “Malcolm saw it.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Oliver murmurs, tugging Felicity back into his side and pressing a kiss against her temple.

“Don’t you forget it,” she says happily, nuzzling into him and knocking her glasses a little askew.

Oliver deposits his beer on the side table, freeing his other hand to straighten her glasses for her. Felicity beams up at him, her smile a source of light every bit as bright as the roaring fire in the corner, and he’s only had two beers but damn, when she looks at him like that, the whole world seems to tilt. He lets his head fall back against the sofa, dropping it to the side to stare into her eyes and forgetting, just for a minute, that they’re not alone.

“Ugh,” Thea interrupts, putting down her wine glass a little more forcefully than necessary. “You two are sickeningly adorable, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Felicity flicks Thea a smug look, not moving from her spot against Oliver’s side. “We know.”

Oliver shrugs at his sister and she makes a show of rolling her eyes, softening it with the smile she can’t quite hide. “Anyway, Ollie,” she goes on, fake microphone suddenly back in place, “you never answered my question.”

“Are we really doing this?” He groans. “Won’t we hire people to teach me this stuff?”

“When the campaign can afford it, yes. For now–”

“For now, you’ll have to make do with us,” Felicity finishes, removing herself from his embrace and making a little space between them on the couch so she can watch his answer. She tucks one foot up underneath her, struggling a little with the restricted movement of the tight skirt of her dress. It rides up a little as she shifts around and Oliver drops his hand down onto her thigh, giving her a little squeeze. “Hey.” She raises a finger in warning. “Stop feeling up the journalist and answer the question.”

“Okay, okay, what was the question again?” he asks, deliberating sliding his hand up a little further, as high as he thinks he can get away with when his sister’s sitting in the armchair right opposite.

“Why are you running for Mayor if you’re not a politician?” Felicity prompts, holding her hand out again as if passing him the microphone.

“Uhh -- because I don’t think politics has anything to do with it, not right now. Star City just needs someone willing to stand up and be counted.” He looks between the two women, anxiously awaiting their response. “How’s that?”

“Good! That’s a solid start.” Felicity casts around, looking for another question. “Ooh here’s a good one - how do you feel about the vigilantes in this city?”

“I -- uh -- wish we lived in a world where they weren’t needed. But we don’t.”

“So you’re endorsing them?” Thea raises her eyebrows, feigning surprise. “They operate outside the law, Mr Queen.”

“I’m saying I understand their motivations and what they’re trying to achieve. And -- uh -- I won’t condemn them for trying to do good for this city.” He clears his throat, considering the next line. “That said, I do wish we could go a year without someone accusing me of being one of them.”

“Nice.” Thea snorts. “Now, about your family. Didn’t your sister have a drug problem in the past? Should she really be on your staff?”

“Thea!”

“What?” She shrugs. “People will ask, Ollie. Suck it up. I can handle it.”

“Alright, alright. Yes, she’s had her problems in the past,” he says grudgingly, watching Thea’s reaction carefully. She just nods encouragingly, her sharp eyes fixed on his. “She’s had a lot to deal with, but that’s really why she’s the best person to be my campaign manager. My sister–” He shakes his head in wonder, a smile stealing onto his face. “She knows a thing or two about turning things around. That’s exactly the sort of person this City needs.”

Thea’s not one for blushing, so when she grabs for a sip from her near empty wine glass to hide her glowing face, he knows his words have hit home.

“Good answer,” Felicity says warmly, giving his arm an approving squeeze.

“Right, hit me again,” Oliver asks, warming to the game now. “This is actually good practice.” He kicks up his feet onto the coffee table, removing his cufflinks and dropping them onto the side table. Felicity stares openly at him, her breath hitching slightly as he rolls up his sleeves to the elbows, baring his forearms. He flashes her a smirk to let her know he heard the stuttered breath, then drops his arm back down onto her legs, his hand settling on her knee.

“Okay.” Felicity shakes her head, like she’s trying to clear water from her ears. “Questions … questions. What are your first priorities for Star City?”

“Uh -- stabilise the city. Make it a safer place to live, that’s got to come first.”

“And beyond that?” Thea prompts.

“Regeneration,” Oliver supplies, surprised to find the answers presenting themselves easily. “Reclaim the derelict neighbourhoods, make them fit for living again. Good quality, affordable housing will attract people to settle here, more people will attract more business, and that’ll make more jobs, attracting even more people, and so on.” Feeling Thea and Felicity’s eyes on him, he falters, suddenly embarrassed. “Uh -- in an ideal world, that is. I know things aren’t that –”

“No, no,” Felicity interrupts, reaching for his hand and lacing their fingers together. “That’s perfect.”

“You’re gonna make a really good Mayor, Ollie,” Thea adds.

Oliver takes a deep breath, allowing himself a moment to savour the praise from the two people whose opinions mean the most to him. The way they’re looking at him right now - like he’s someone to look up to, someone to _follow_ \- it’s almost too much to comprehend. He looks away, turning his burning eyes to the window and the skyline of the city he loves. “Well,” he says quietly, still not able to meet their eyes. “I’ve got a good team behind me.”

“Damn right,” Thea agrees, brushing past the sudden heaviness in her usual matter of fact way. “Now.” He looks back at her, finding her studying him over steepled fingers. “Let’s move on to far, far more important matters. Who were you wearing at today’s press conference?”

“What?”

“Your suit,” Thea says, pointing to the jacket and tie draped over one arm of the couch, where he abandoned them earlier. “It’s from…?”

“My closet,” he offers, throwing his hands up. “I don’t know.”

“Find out,” Thea suggests. “Okay, how about this one - how do you like to relax? What are your interests?”

“I thought I was running for Mayor, not doing some kind of reality dating show.”

“People are going to ask you this fluffy crap too, Ollie. At every fundraiser, every gala, every silent auction–”

“Oh God, you’re right,” he says, running a weary hand over his forehead.

“So,” Felicity prompts, untangling her hand from his to tug a little on the folded edge of his sleeve. “Your dream Saturday is…”

“I don’t know -- quiet,” he supplies, shrugging. “A -- a run in the morning. Wake up my girlfriend with–”

“Oliver!” Thea sounds his name like a warning.

“Breakfast,” he finishes, flashing a knowing glance at Felicity, making a blush bloom on her cheeks. “Uh -- what else  -- I don’t know -- take Felicity out somewhere in the City. Downtown maybe, to the waterfront. Cook dinner for her, maybe for some family and friends too. A few drinks, then in bed by midnight, definitely. I’m not the party animal I once–”

“Oliver,” Felicity interrupts, hand on his arm. “Leaving out the vigilante element that actually kept us up ‘til four am, you just described last Saturday.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I guess I did.”

“Your _dream_ Saturday, I said.”

“I heard you.”

The second his words sink in, Felicity just ... melts. Her whole frame drops and her wine-stained lips fall open in a perfect ‘o’ of surprise. He leans in to kiss her but she moves first, pitching herself forward with a whimper of approval and leaning her forehead into his bicep.

“God, Ollie, you’re such a sap,” Thea says, huffing a laugh.

Felicity murmurs a disgruntled sound that might be a rebuff to Thea, and presses a series of kisses to his arm, her lips warm through the thin cotton of his shirt. When she pulls away there’s a faint stain left behind, from the wine or the remnants of her lipstick. Felicity pouts, rubbing at it with her thumb, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“Leave it,” he murmurs, leaning in to steal a proper kiss. “I don’t care.”

“Well,” Thea says indulgently, as Felicity beams at him. “I guess you’ve won over this particular audience.”

“Thank you.” Oliver dips his head in acknowledgement.  

“Next PR lesson - social media,” Thea warns, laughing as his face falls.

“Nope. No way.”

“You already have a Twitter account.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I set it up this afternoon, and Felicity already put the app on your phone for you.”

“What?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, punching in the passcode and finding the app there on his home screen. “But I don’t need a twitter account.”

“Hashtag yes you do,” Felicity says, patting his arm sympathetically as she settles back into her spot beside him. “Sorry.”

“The campaign staff will run it mostly,” Thea says. “You won’t need to tweet things yourself all that often.”

“Who are all these people following me?” Oliver asks, reeling a little at the number of followers his fledgling account seems to have already acquired.

“They, dear brother, are potential voters. Potential donors. See? Twitter is necessary.”

“Woah.” He hits the link, scrolling through a list of unfamiliar names. “All these people.”

“Exactly.”

“And who am I following?” he asks, flicking through to that page.

“Mostly civic groups, local charities, that sort of thing–”

“Hey, there’s Felicity!” he says, feeling an absurd little flush of pleasure as he clicks on her profile.

“Obviously,” Thea says, rolling her eyes. “We set you up following me, Felicity, Laurel–”

“What about Dig?”

“He doesn’t have an account.”

“Oh no, n-no.” Oliver shakes his head. “If I have to have one, he does too.”

Felicity laughs from beside him. “I’ll guilt him into it tomorrow.”

“Talking of tomorrow,” Thea says through a yawn, glancing at the clock on the wall. “It's getting pretty late. I should call a cab.”

“Stay over,” Oliver offers, noticing the time too. “Your room’s still here, it’s all made up...”

“I could,” Thea says thoughtfully, glancing longingly up the stairs. “I don’t know if I have many clothes left here though–”

“Oh, I’ll lend you something to sleep in,” Felicity says, springing up from the couch and reaching for Thea’s hand. “Come on.”

“Alright.” Thea jumps up from the chair, allowing Felicity to take her hand and tug her along to the stairs. “Just -- nothing you’ve had sex in though, okay?” she murmurs, when she obviously thinks they’re out of earshot.

“Well,” Felicity says speculatively, “that is going to exclude a _lot_ of my nightwear.”

“Ew.”

Sinking a little deeper into the couch, Oliver scrolls through down Felicity’s tweets, huffing a laugh at himself when he realises he’s reading every word in his head in her voice. Through half closed eyes, he taps out a message before letting the phone slip out of his hand onto the couch beside him. As Thea and Felicity flit about upstairs, their footsteps light but audible on the wooden floors above, he dozes, lulled by the sound of their movements and the simple knowledge that they’re up there, together.

“Hey, Ollie.” Thea’s voice, drily amused, calls down from the balcony. “You know that was a public message, right?”

“What?” He sits up straight, snatching up his phone. “I thought I sent it to Felicity.”

“You did,” Thea calls down, her laughter ringing out across the loft. “But anyone can see it if they look at your Twitter feed.”

“Oh.” Oliver tosses his phone back down beside him, reaching for his now lukewarm beer and swallowing down the last mouthful. “Well, the sentiment stands.”

“Please tell me you didn’t just sext me over Twitter, Oliver.” Felicity’s voice joins the conversation, pitched a little higher than normal. “Thea toss me my phone, let me see.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just said–”

“Aw.” Felicity’s voice softens; obviously she’s found the message. “I love you too.”

Thea’s groans is audible even from one floor up. “You two are making me sick.”

“Hey!” He just makes out Felicity’s reply, following by a thump that might be another cushion aimed at Thea. “Watch how you talk about Star City’s new power couple.”

“Oh my god, that’s what they’re going to call you.”

Their mingled laughter drifts down in snatches from upstairs and Oliver drops his head against the couch, letting the sound of their back and forth bickering wash over him. After a while, he slips into a doze again, cracking one eye open when light footsteps tread carefully back downstairs.

“Hey,” he says lazily, eyes landing on Felicity as she stops to lean against one of the pillars, watching him silently. “Thea gone to bed?”

“Yeah.” Felicity has changed while she was upstairs, taking off her glasses for the night and ditching the tight blue dress from today in favour of her favourite oversized sleep tee. It’s old and worn, getting a little ratty around the collar, and god help him, he adores her in it. Loves the feel of her curves under the over-washed cotton, and the way the wide collar always drops off one shoulder, just like it’s doing now, revealing a glimpse of her collarbone and shoulder, begging - absolutely _begging_ \- for him to kiss the skin there.

“So,” he says, tapping a finger against his phone. “I guess the press are going to know we’re dating.”

“I don’t care,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t want to hide it.”

“Me neither.”

“So Mr Queen,” she says slowly, her voice low. She curls her fist under her chin again, miming the microphone, but the glint in her eyes tells him this is a different game altogether. “Tell us about this girl you’re seeing.”

He sits up a little straighter, letting his eyes wander over her, from her loose hair, to the bare skin of her shoulder, the flash of thigh where the tee ends, right down to - a laugh rumbles up in his chest - the fluffy oversized boot socks she’s wearing, a memento from their summer hikes that she rediscovered once fall hit the city.

“Is it serious?” She pushes off from the pillar, and he watches as she stalks towards him, the shape of her legs visible through the thin fabric.

“Very,” he says solemnly, sitting forwards on the couch but not moving to stand. “I’m crazy about her.”

“What’s she like?” she asks, coming to a stop between his open legs.

"Clever." With the light of the fire behind her, everything about her seems to glow. “Beautiful."

“And?” She plants her hands on couch either side of his head and climbs carefully onto his lap, straddling him. “What else?”

“Brave,” he says, as she winds her hands around his neck, one of her hands brushing the hair at the nape. “Kind.” She grinds down a little and he clamps his hands on her hips, his breath hitching. “Funny.”

“Good answer,” she says, her mouth hovering over his, agonisingly close.

Control fraying, he surges up, stealing a kiss. Felicity lets him, arching her back under his hands and opening her mouth to him at once. He lets one hand fall to her thigh and around to her ass, hitching her a little further up his lap, hissing as she shifts against him. Then, suddenly, she pulls back, leaving him chasing her lips with a growl of disapproval.

“Felicity–”

“Shh.” She places a finger on his lips, shaking her head at him. “Thea is upstairs.”

“You should have thought of that before you–”

“What does she think about you running for mayor?” she interrupts, blue eyes wide and innocently interested. “This girl you’re seeing.”

“She’s proud of me,” he says instantly, almost tripping over his words in his eagerness. “I think.”

“Oh, I’m sure she is. And…” She trails one hand over the front of his shirt, lingering at the collar.

“Ah.” He huffs a laugh. “She likes me in a suit.”

“Hmm.” She leans in, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the hollow of his throat. “I bet she does.”

Groaning her name, he tugs her hair gently, just enough to encourage her to tip her head up from his neck enough for him to kiss her again. Felicity whimpers her approval against his lips, kissing him back lazily. She tastes like red wine and toothpaste, and he laughs a little into her mouth, utterly charmed by the everyday nature of it all.

“Let’s go to bed,” he says, giving her waist a squeeze. “Now.”

Grinning, she pulls back and clambers carefully off his lap. He hisses at the loss of contact, standing up to follow her at once. Her smile blossoms into a smirk as her gaze pointedly falls south.

“Just one more question,” she says, walking backwards towards the stairs, her eyes not leaving his.

“Ask away.”

She purses her lips, her head falling to the side as she considers him. “Does she call you Mr Mayor in the bedroom?”

The noise he makes in reply is caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan, between delight and distress. He closes the distance between them, settling his hands on her waist and steering her backwards until they hit the pillar nearest the staircase. “I’m only a candidate. I haven’t won yet.”

“Well,” she says speculatively, hands playing idly with his collar. “I guess you’d better make sure you do, and maybe you’ll find out.”

She grins wickedly at him and that’s it, he’s gone. He growls her name, pressing a bruising kiss to her lips, her neck, yanking the wide collar of her t-shirt aside to free more skin.

“Oliver,” she hisses, frantically hitting him on the back even as she opens her legs, letting him slide one knee between them. “Wait! Your sister! Upstairs.”

“Oh, no, no,” he says quietly, lifting her bodily up against the pillar. His vision whites out for a second as she wraps her legs around him. The room blurs into nothing but the glow of the fire and the light in her eyes, everything narrowing to the feel of her body moving against his. “You started this game.”

“It is somewhat possible,” she goes on, eyes blown wide in lust, “that I didn’t completely think it through.”

“Not my problem.” He lets her down carefully, grabbing for her hand and towing her towards the stairs. “You’ll just have to be very, very, quiet.”

She sidles up close, leaning up on her tip toes in those ridiculous socks to whisper her reply. “Only if you are, _Mr Mayor.”_

"I told you," he groans, "I haven't won yet."

"Well," she says, shrugging, her t-shirt slipping off her shoulder again. "You've got my vote, at least."

 

 


End file.
